


circuits and wires

by santanico



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Communication, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to get a tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	circuits and wires

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Circuitos e fiações](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590456) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



> i finished it!

“You’re…not serious, are you?” Dorian asks after a moment, staring at John over the cup of coffee between them.

John scowls. “Of course I’m serious.”

“Yes, that’s right, you don’t joke…” Dorian trails off and ignores the glare that John sends him. “Doesn’t this seem a little…expensive? And possibly a bit too grandiose?”

“It’s a tattoo, not brain surgery.” John reaches for his cup of coffee and takes a couple of short sips. “It’s not like anyone we know is going to see it. Just you.”

Dorian adjusts himself in his seat before leaning back, eyeing John for a long moment. John licks his lips and avoids eye contact, mostly staring at his own cup of coffee and the red wood of the table. It’s his refusal to actually look at Dorian that tips Dorian off to John being nervous.

“A back tattoo,” Dorian says, repeating what John had earlier mentioned on the car ride to the coffee shop before their shift. It would be less annoying that John now refused to drink coffee at his apartment if Dorian didn’t have to go with him every damn time, but Dorian is able to count his blessings. At least he’s not living with those MXs anymore, even if John isn’t the best roommate anyone could ask for. “Isn’t it too early to be talking about tattoos?”

“Shut up,” John says and chuckles. “You don’t even _sleep_ , so why do you complain about having to be up so early?”

“Colloquialisms,” Dorian says and grins when John rolls his eyes. “It’s a quarter to seven, John. We should be on our way.”

“Fine, fine,” John says, picking up his to-go cup and motioning with a wave for Dorian to follow him. “I’ll talk to you about it in a car.”

Simplicity is never as it seems. Dorian knows, though not from experience, that the majority of relationships between humans end badly. That’s the name of the game, he supposes, although it seems silly that most people cannot seem to work out their differences, despite essentially being attached for years and years. That friendships are often less durable than romantic relationships speaks to what Dorian believes to be the guilt complex that comes along with romance, and often in correlation, sex.

As he shuts the door and buckles his seatbelt, John raring the engine of the police-issued vehicle, Dorian sorts through at least a hundred different ways that the relationship between him and John could end. Some are good and amicable, some would strike fear into someone who felt fear so easily. Dorian doesn’t like to think about the honest possibility of being decommissioned again, likely in the near future. He doesn’t like the idea of them being caught and John going through a fucked up hell for finding peace with a “synthetic”. Dorian particularly doesn’t like the thought of John telling him to “go to hell” (a place that doesn’t even exist as possible in Dorian’s mind) and refusing to work with him ever again. Almost worse is the idea that John might decide simply to break off the physical and emotional aspects of their relationship and remain partners as cops, while never discussing the depth of said partnership.

A tattoo rings true as permanent. Dorian has difficulty fathoming permanence – perhaps it has something to do with his making – and though tattoo removal is easier and safer than it’s ever been, a tattoo is still something that is considered, to Dorian’s understanding, much like plastic surgery. It’s a bodily change and it is often not accepted.

John finally says, “It just makes sense. Don’t ask me to explain it.”

Dorian turns his head. “Explain what, John?” He blinks and John shrugs. “How strongly you feel?”

John grimaces. “Don’t use that word.”

“…Strongly? Feel?”

“ _Feel_ ,” John says like a particularly bad curse. “We don’t have to get into that.”

“Hmm,” Dorian hums, closing his eyes and folding his hands in his lap. “Eventually we will have to talk about your _feelings_ John, and eventually you will start having to see a psychiatrist again. Maldonado has let you off the hook for months now but…”

“But what?” John shoots back and Dorian understands it as a challenge. Dorian is always prepared to take a challenge.

“But you won’t be able to ignore it for much longer. In police work, you’ve been allowing your aggression to get the best of you. I’m glad that doesn’t translate into your personal life but it definitely isn’t putting on a good image for the pre – ”

“Shut up, Dorian.”

Dorian doesn’t usually listen to John but he falls silent.

“Thank you.”

-

Dorian draws the image for John by initially sketching it in pen on his back. John says he wants to start up by his shoulders and work down, maybe make a couple of visits to fully expand the image. It makes perfect sense, Dorian decides, that he should be the one to design it.

It’s his insides, isn’t it?

“You wouldn’t get the digestive system tattooed on you, would you?” Dorian asks with a smile as he begins to pen his own circuitry into John’s skin. John turns his head to the right to speak.

“You know it’s not the same.”

Dorian adjusts himself, sitting back against John’s ass and leaning over to work out the details. He, unlike John, can trace the image of his own circuits from his eyes. The pen moves smoothly, scratching over John’s bare back.

“I didn’t think this would actually be nice,” John says after a few minutes of stiff concentration from Dorian. “It’s relaxing.”

“You never let yourself relax,” Dorian says, placing a kiss on John’s neck. John can sometimes be confusing to read because while his self is full of rage issues, locked underneath it is something that reminds Dorian of the ocean. Calm and capable, rational and kind. The sort of man who wants to protect people more than anything, even against his better judgment. Dorian can’t help but think that kindness will get John killed one day.

“It’s the job,” John says, shifting underneath Dorian to stretch his arms out. The muscles of his back strain and then loosen as he settles into the mattress. Dorian pauses in drawing out his image and changes screens so that he’s only looking at John beneath him, at rest and eyes closed.

“Being a cop makes you tense,” Dorian says, tracing a thumb across the top of the art on John’s back, near John’s shoulders. John shivers, and Dorian only notices it because his sensors archive 95% of John’s reactions to his touch. It was something they agreed on a while ago to try, to see if Dorian could help John become more in control of his emotions and his tensions. “It’s a strenuous job,” Dorian continues, squeezing his thigh against John’s hips and beginning to massage his hands along John’s shoulders.

“Are you going to smudge it?” John asks, trying to turn his head further and pushing against Dorian’s warm grip. Dorian holds him down and John fights it for a split second before letting out a long sigh and resting into the bed again.

“No, I’m not,” Dorian whispers, smiling and dipping down to kiss the back of John’s neck again. “Like I said, you should relax.” He trails a hand over the drawing, tracing his fingers across the ink marks. John shivers but his body loosens into the mattress as Dorian begins pressing the palms of his hands in firm motions against John’s muscle. “I don’t make mistakes.”

John relaxes.

-

Tattoos are one thing that Dorian can tell have not advanced much. At least, not in the last eighty years or so. The artist quirks an eyebrow when John and Dorian enter the small parlor on the outskirts of the city but he doesn’t ask any questions except the regular ones. John schedules three appointments after they handle the little paperwork to be done. John had handpicked the artist online after extensive research – a girl in her early thirties who he told Dorian had been working at the parlor for over eight years.

He doesn’t actually say anything, but Dorian can sense that John wants him there so he trails along. Not that John betrays any signs of nervousness – seeing as he already has tattoos – but this is different than just a meaningful piece of inked art on an arm. This is a large and extensive tattoo that is meant to span the majority of John’s back. To the outside observer, Dorian figures it would seem like an artsy waste of space – but to Dorian, it’s a look inside John’s deepest behaviors and emotions, to the core of his self, much like Dorian’s own circuitry, though at the surface only pieces of mechanics, is much his soul. John is agreeing to print Dorian’s insides, however “inhuman” they may seem, onto John’s own very real skin.

A stepping stone of sort, Dorian supposes.

The first appointment starts at the top. The girl gives Dorian a similar look as the man had when they first came in to set up the appointments. She doesn’t question anything though, just smiles and has Dorian sit in a chair next to John who lays out flat on his stomach, head turned towards Dorian.

“Want me to hold your hand?” Dorian whispers as John settles and the woman prepares.

“Shut up,” John snaps back but he’s smiling. Dorian instead crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Dorian says under his breath as John closes his eyes. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah,” John says in the same quiet voice. “It’s fine.”

-

“Did it hurt?”

John laughs. He’s sat in the passenger seat for once, clearly exhausted. A third of the tattoo is finished and it stretches over his shoulders and down the first section of his back. “Of course it fucking hurt,” he grits out, bending over and then cursing again.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” The nice thing about Dorian driving is that John can relax and, in ways, so can Dorian. Driving doesn’t require any extensive thought. The beauty of machines. “Does it hurt to stretch it?”

“Yes,” John groans from where he’s crouched. “I’ve never had something that big…”

Dorian snickers before John finishes with a snap, “ _Tattooed_ on me. Don’t be an asshole. I’m in pain.”

“It’s just my colloquialisms, John.”

“You’re a lying little bastard.”

“I was programmed this way, John,” Dorian says but lets himself continue to chuckle. “I can’t help who I am.”

“If you don’t shut up you won’t live to regret it,” John growls, leaning back just slightly in his seat.

Dorian goes quiet, if only out of courtesy.

-

The following two appointments go even smoother. John still complains about the pain but he’s also admiring of the artwork printed on his back. Dorian catches him looking at himself in the bedroom mirror a couple of times, and even in the bathroom after a shower. He smiles as the piece becomes more and more complete and it gives Dorian a sense of purpose. It makes John happy to have Dorian’s literal insides printed permanently on his own back, and that, in turn, makes Dorian smile.

“It looks good,” John says once it’s complete and healed, something of a month later. Dorian admires the piece as well as they stand together in John’s bedroom, in front of John’s largest mirror.

“You made a smart choice, the artist did a great job with the detail.”

“Well, she was the best option besides you and obviously I was never going to let you near me with a needle,” John says with a small laugh as Dorian approaches him. John turns around, facing the mirror and Dorian wraps his arms around John’s waist, resting his chin on John’s shoulder.

“At least not one that could leave permanent marks,” Dorian says in a soft voice, pressing his lips to John’s neck. John tilts his head to the side to give Dorian more room and rolls his eyes. “Thought I doubt you’d mind a little marking.” Dorian parts his lips and takes a nip at John’s neck. John shivers more than flinches and presses back against Dorian.

“Don’t get too kinky, it’s still early,” John murmurs as Dorian’s right hand slides to rest on John’s hip, holding him still.

Dorian hums. “What’s your definition of early?” he says, shifting and gliding the same hand up the front of John’s shirt. John goes very still and very quiet, breathing low and deep. 

“We haven’t had dinner yet,” John answers, but it sounds more like a question and it’s obvious enough to Dorian that he wouldn’t be adverse to further touch.

“John,” Dorian says, leaving his hand splayed over John’s stomach without going any further. “If you say so now I’ll step back and we can go make dinner. If you’re hungry.” Dorian watches John’s expression twist in the mirror – bitter frustration and a confused mixture of horniness, but also, perhaps a twinge of exhaustion. Dorian stands up straight and starts to remove his hand but John pulls him back, wrapping Dorian in closer than before, tighter.

“No,” John says. “Stay.”

Dorian presses his nose into John’s neck and then up, brushing against his ear. He takes the lobe between his teeth and scrapes his teeth along the skin for a second. John reacts with another, harsher shudder.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Dorian asks. Better safe than sorry – he knows that phrase too well.

“Please.”

“That’s not exactly any answer.”

“Yes. C’mon, yes.” John’s voice quivers and cracks. To Dorian, the image is interesting – he can see John and himself in the mirror, images of themselves, and it’s erotic enough in nature and theory. He can tell, looking at John in the mirror, that John’s cock is straining in his underwear, hard beneath the layers of clothes. Something about a fresh and beautiful tattoo and how it touches Dorian’s skin from beneath John’s racerback tank is making John’s body heated.

Sex with John is always a pleasure of sorts. Dorian decides to take it easy this time, moving himself directly behind John and mostly out of view. Standing with his legs spread at hips width, Dorian undoes John’s belt and then his jeans, sliding a hand into John’s boxers and grasping his cock. John’s reactions are recorded in the full length mirror in front of them. Dorian considers pushing John onto the bed for a split second but decides against it as John’s breathing grows shallow and heavy, Dorian pumping his cock in sweet, slow strokes.

John’s enjoyment is entertaining to watch. In ways, he appears to be struggling, sweating beading on his forehead and legs growing unsteady – even the synthetic limb has trouble staying grounded as Dorian works his technique to get John to come. It’s no mystery that they ended up in this kind of relationship, seeking companionship in any way possible. John’s loneliness and Dorian’s desperation for kinship made for the perfect partnership, regardless of how Maldonado or anyone else might have imagined it would end up. Dorian doubts anyone ever though that an android would have a sexual partnership with a human.

Dorian enjoys proving people wrong, even if only to himself, almost as much as he enjoys John’s open mouth and barely shut eyes.

“C’mon,” John whispers, voice hoarse and calloused as his hands search for some part of Dorian to cling to. Dorian rests his free hand on John’s hip, thumb stroking over rough fabric in time with his other hand. He presses himself close as possible, right against John’s ass, and smiles as John lets out a small, strangled noise that comes from deep down in his throat. There are few things more satisfying than the sounds John makes during sex.

Dorian speeds up his pace and presses his mouth against John’s ear again, murmuring, “I’m going to fuck you on your stomach.” John’s body hitches in reaction, nearly stumbling forward and into the mirror they stand in front of, but Dorian keeps him steady with his strong hand. “Not now, but later,” Dorian continues and John lets out another weak whine. “And admire that piece of art on your back that will always remind you of me.”

John comes with a cry, cock jerking up in Dorian’s palm. He suddenly becomes very still and almost collapses back against Dorian, who continues to keep him upright.

“Good,” Dorian says as John stand up straight. They pull apart from each other but Dorian keeps his eyes on John, watching as he blinks and composes himself. “Orgasms do wonders for your mood.”

“Shut up,” John says, voice fuller after he has a moment to regain himself. His gaze lingers. “Thank you.”

Dorian smiles. “I was serious about what I said. About later.”

John swallows.

“But dinner first,” Dorian promises. John ducks his head and mutters something about using the bathroom, walking out of the bedroom. Dorian watches him and admires the extensive tattoo from a distance.

It feels warm, like a fire coiling deep inside of him. A tattoo implies permanence, and permanence implies some sort of trust. Dorian can work with that, and he can enjoy the situation as it is, for now, despite (or perhaps, because of) its flaws and issues. John’s anger can be worked on. His insecurities can be unfolded, and Dorian is happy to be a part of the journey.


End file.
